Battle of Bastards
by BeforeOthersBelieve
Summary: How the Battle of Bastards should've happened. One versus one. Stark Vs Bolton. The winner takes the North and the title home.


**Author's note:**

 **Hello everyone, BOB here. This is my first fan fiction and it's basically my perspective on how The Battle of Bastards should have happened. I'm an ASOIAF book-reader so the characters in here are closer to how they are portrayed in the books. This scene hasn't happened in the books so who knows, it might happen like this.**

 **I hope you enjoy this story and I'll let you guys read it now.**

* * *

The people in King's Landing had all thought the War of the Five Kings had ended with the Red Wedding. To them, in fact, the war, or what remained of it, did nothing to unsettle their lives or everyday tasks. Life in the capital of Westeros was simple and good, if you can call "simple and good" to a life surrounded by filth and the ongoing bickering between the queen and the High Sparrow.

Nevertheless, it was a quiet way of life, much more so than the lives of the northern people...

Near the white, snow covered plains surrounding Winterfell a group of horsemen stood still, their heavy fur coats preventing the freezing, always-present Nordic wind from affecting them in the slightest. Like always when the in North, the sky was covered in thick grey clouds. To a southerner those clouds most likely meant rain, however, those accustomed to these conditions knew no such thing as rain or snow was to come, not for while at least.

At the vanguard of the group, on the left, stood Jon Snow, former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, recently brought back to life, and, on the right, Sansa Stark, rightful heir to Winterfell, daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully, sister to Robb Stark, the Young Wolf, the last King in the North so far, and half-sister to Jon.

Jon Snow is lean built man, possessing more Stark-like features than any of his half-brothers and half-sisters. He has a long face, trademark to his father's house, long dark tied brown hair, and dark grey eyes, so dark they almost seem black.

Sansa Stark is a beautiful young woman with high cheekbones, vivid blue eyes and thick auburn, almost red like hair. All of these traits make Sansa, unlike Jon, take after her mother instead of her father, displaying the characteristics the Tully's are known for throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Behind these siblings stand their most trusted advisors and allies, as well as bannermen carrying the sigil of House Stark, the Direwolf. Among them, stand out Sir Davos Seaworth, former Hand of the King to Stannis Baratheon; Lady Lyanna Mormont, the head of House Mormont despite being no more than twelve; and Tormund Giantsbane, a high figure within the Free Folk army and a respectful friend and ally of Jon.

As the party waits outside of the northern capital, another group of horsemen approaches from the Stark's ancient stronghold. The faces are unrecognizable so far but everyone knows very well who is leading the group.

"You don't have to be here." Jon says to Sansa in his hard and sore-like voice as the enemy group gets closer and closer.

"Yes I do." Sansa replies, her eyes never leaving the approaching knights. No more words are needed, Jon understands completely what his sister has gone through, and he knows she needs to confront him, she _must_ confront him. With this in mind, Jon refocuses his sight on who is coming.

At the front of the group is no other than Ramsay Bolton, legitimized bastard of Roose Bolton and current Lord of Winterfell. Behind him stand a few of his men, some of which carry the sigil of House Bolton, the flayed man. Among this party, the only one worth of mentioning is Smalljon Umber, lord of House Umber ever since his father was captured at the Red Wedding.

Ramsay Bolton is an ugly young man, even when dressed with the finest clothes. His skin has pink and blotchy tone to it, his nose is broad and he has long, dry and dark hair. Ramsay's eyes resemble those of his father, small and oddly pale, like chips of dirty ice.

"My beloved wife" his sadistic smile takes form as he directs himself to Sansa. Despite already knowing what kind of a person Ramsay Bolton is Sansa can't shake off the shiver that runs up her spine as she swallows a lump she didn't even notice was there. "I've missed you terribly." He concludes. Anyone could feel the disdain that flows through his words as he speaks. "Thank you for returning Lady Bolton safely." he says to Jon, trying to pass as if he doesn't know exactly what the group is doing there. "Now dismount and kneel before me!" Ramsay pauses. "Surrender your army and proclaim me the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I'll pardon you for deserting the Night's Watch...I'll pardon these treasonous lords for betraying my house..." His wailing is met with nothing but silence from the other group as every single one stares to the pretender ahead, Lady Mormont, surprisingly, the one with the scariest stare.

"Come, bastard..." He continues. "You don't have the men, you don't have the horses and you don't have Winterfell!" As Ramsay wails on and on, Jon does little more than just stare at him. "Why lead those poor souls into slaughter?" His question is met with silence once more. "There's no need for a battle." Another pause, this one much shorter than the last. "Get off your horse and kneel." Ramsay repeats, this time waving his hand in short motions to emphasize his argument. "I'm a man of mercy." He concludes. Although he tried to suppress it, a small smile found its way to his lips as the clear lie was spoken.

His monologue is met with nothing but silence once again as the wind shakes the banners hanging from the poles the man carry. Jon's and Sansa's party doesn't dare to move or speak until one of their lords does so first.

"You're right." Jon finally says, breaking the wall of silence. "There's no need for a battle... Thousands of men don't need to die." Taking a page out of Ramsay's book, Snow pauses. "Only one of us." Ramsay's smile widens a little bit seeing where the former command is going with his idea.

"Let's end this the old way: you...against me." Jon finishes. Apparently this idea caught everyone by surprise including Sansa and the rest of Jon's party as everyone looks at him with uncertainty in their eyes.

Ramsay, on the other hand, releases a small laugh. Even laughing he doesn't look any better than what he is..."I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you you're the greatest swordsman who ever walked...Maybe you are that good." Ramsay shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe not...I don't know if I'd beat you, but I know that my army will beat yours." Jon stares at Ramsay, thinking of a way on how to make him fall into his trap. He is not cocky, but he does recognize his skills and is certain Ramsay Bolton would be an easy opponent.

"I have six-thousand men!" Ramsay continues. "You have...what? Half that? Not even?"

"Aye!" Snow interjects. "You have the numbers..." He pauses as an idea comes to his mind. If Ramsay is everything Sansa told him he is, he is sure he will fall for this. "Will your men want to fight for you when they hear you wouldn't fight for them?"

Jon knows Ramsay is prideful and, if challenged, will do nothing if not assure he doesn't come off as weak. Besides, his men follow him not out of honor or love; they follow him out of fear. One little spark is all it takes to ignite the rebellion that is building within Ramsay's army...and Jon Snow had found it!

 _'You bastard!'_ Ramsay cursed as he found himself thrown into a corner. He knew his men carried no love for him, not after all the things he had done. Don't take him wrong, he wasn't sorry for those acts, on the contrary, he loved himself for doing them, but he was quite aware that his men and bannermen only saw him as an animal and followed him out of fear his wrath might fall upon them. How his father managed to be both respected and feared is a question that always eluded him and there was no way to ask his "beloved" father that now...

 _'Guess I have no choice but to comply with this bastard's challenge. Although...'_ Ramsay smiles to himself as an idea comes to his mind. _'I never was one to play fair.'_

"Very well, Lord Snow." The legitimized bastard says, Jon a little surprised on how he found out the nickname his brothers in black had given him. "I'll accept your challenge. Here and now!" Ramsay proclaims, opening his arms as if trying to look menacing. This acceptance hits everyone by surprise...

Sansa can't help the smile that rises to her face. _'If Ramsay thinks he can win against Jon he is a dead man'_. Tormund on the other hand, displays a full-on-out grin. Sir Davos lifts his eyebrows at the sadistic man in front of him. _'Something is not right; he has something up his sleeve.'_

Snow can't even believe Ramsay took the bait so easily, he was expecting the Bolton would need more provocations. Lady Mormont is, by far, the one who displays the clearer sign. So clear, in fact, her stare wasn't at all phased by the acclamation.

"My lord! May I have a word?" Smalljon Umber intervenes, apparently Jon's party wasn't the only one caught by surprise. ' _Just by looking at Eddard's son a blind man could tell he is better than most with a sword in his hand. What, by the Old Gods, is this bastard thinking?!'_

Apparently, being interrupted is another thing Ramsay can't stand if the look he throws at the Umber is anything to go by. "Lord Snow?" he directs himself to Ned Stark's son, his smile long gone. "A few moments of preparation?"

Although this would pass of as a question, Ramsay doesn't even wait for his reply as he shifts the reins and starts moving his horse to a safe distance away from his adversaries, his party following suit.

* * *

 **##########Snow's Side##########**

"My lord?" Sir Davos is the first one to speak. "I need to advice you this might not be the best option. Ramsay clearly has something in mind for this duel. And I'm not entirely sure what it is."

"Ramsay is not a fool." Sansa voices her thoughts. "Of course he has something prepared, probably something without honor, but I'm sure we can take him down..." She looks at Jon before speaking the next words. "I believe _you_ can take him down."

"I'm with red on this." Tormund speaks, his hard voice recognizable anywhere. "The boy looks more of a butcher than a fighter. I haven't seen him fight but I have you... I would bet my daughters you paint the ground with his blood in less than a minute." Those unaccustomed to Tormund's behavior give him strange looks as he finishes his support.

Jon is sure what it is he must do. Not only will it save the lives of many of his men it's a guaranteed way of assuring victory. Despite that, he has four advisors and one still hasn't said anything.

"What about you, Lady Mormont?" Jon looks at the child. "What do you think of this?"

The group focuses their eyes on the young Mormont lady. She has more than once showed the fearless attitude of Mormont's and despite being only a child her words carry a lot of weight among these men.

Lyanna spares a look at each of the faces in front of her: a northern lady, the former commander of the Night's Watch, a wildling or one of the Free Folk and a fingerless smuggler.

A few seconds go by as each one carefully awaits the answer. Many words could come out of her mouth but only three could ever describe what must be done. "The North Remembers." Lady Mormont says, no more, no less.

Sansa smiles towards Lyanna, a smile Jon hadn't seen ever since she road South with their father all those years ago. Tormund laughs a thundery laugh as Sir Davos says nothing, remembering what it is that must be done and what is at stake, the Boltons were responsible for the Red Wedding just as much as the Freys and the Lannisters. Jon Snow merely bows his head to the youngling as one of his rare small smiles takes form.

"Very well then." He says as he dismounts. He hands the coat Sansa knitted for him back to her. "Keep it safe." She can only nod as she places the fabric on top of her horse before Jon moves towards Tormund.

"I suspect Smalljon Umber might try anything if things start to go south for Ramsay." Snow whispers to the large wildling. "Keep an eye on him during the fight will you?"

Understanding his thoughts Tormund nods. "If the cunt tries anything I'll be all over him before he can scratch his balls."

Not being needed anymore words Jon starts to walk away from his friends and towards the small clearing between the two parties, Longclaw sheathed at his side.

"Kill him Jon." Are the last words he hears before the wind silences everything else. _'You know it's serious when she calls you Jon...'_

* * *

 **##########Ramsay's Side##########**

"Next time you intervene like that will be your last!" Ramsay scolds, his face almost turning a shade of red. "Or need I remind you what happened to Reek?" The long face shifts into a sadistic smile.

If Smalljon is scared he doesn't show it, in fact, there is no reaction what so ever. _'I'm not afraid of you bastard! You didn't win the North, you stole it from your daddy, who stole it from the Starks!'_

"Now, I forgive you." Ramsay continues as if nothing had happened, his face returning to its normal self, if one can call it normal. "I know what you meant...and I agree with you, Jon Snow is far too dangerous to take lightly." Smalljon raises an eyebrow at this. Ramsay has never admitted to being wrong and here he is admitting he is weaker than his opponent. _'Something is wrong with this boy...'_

"That is why I need you to do something." His smile resurfaces again. "Only if it comes to it of course." Ramsay didn't wink but he might as well have done it. His face did nothing to conceal his true intentions.

"My lord...are you asking me to…" Smalljon pauses "kill Jon Snow?"

"No, you fool!" Ramsay almost explodes. "I'm not asking you, I'm ordering you!" He pauses to regain his breath; apparently talking takes too much air out of his lungs. "If the fight proves...unfavorable, you kill him before he wins."

 _'Kill him if the fights proves unfavorable?!'_ Smalljon is beyond baffled. _'What kind of Nothermen are you, Ramsay Bolton?!'_ If thoughts could be laced with poison, Ramsay's name would have killed any man.

"Do you understand, Umber?" Ramsay looks deeply into Smalljon's eyes. "Or do I need to find someone who does?" His hand hangs over his dagger.

"Yes, my lord." Smalljon bows his head slightly. Ramsay looks at him with cautious eyes as the Umber answers. "Good! I'm glad we understood each other." He smiles before patting the much larger man on the shoulder and turning towards the clearing.

 _'What would father think of this?'_ The Umber asks himself as his thoughts fall on his captured father. _'The only reason I'm on this bastard's side it's because they have my father captive at the Twins. I've done everything Ramsay has asked me to do but this!? This is too far!'_

Smalljon struggles with himself. Does he do what is expected of him as Ramsay's bannerman or does he do what it's the right thing to do? _'You already saved that wildling and Stark ki...'_ Smalljon opens his eyes in realization. _'Stark! Ramsay Bolton is no Stark! I owe no allegiance to him!_ _House Umber follows only the Starks...and there are two right on the other side of this clearing...'_

* * *

The two men draw their swords, Longclaw shining brighter than Ramsay's by comparison. It is as if the swords depict the hearts of their masters. Snow's gives off a rightful, honest and honorful glow while Ramsay's stinks of decay, depravation and cruelty.

The warriors circle each other slowly, sizing the other up, taking in consideration each and every detail about the adversary.

"Look at how we ended up." Ramsay states. "It's too bad you didn't bend the knee, you could have proven a valuable soldier." He smiles his signature sadistic smile. "Now I'm gonna have to hurt you, just like I hurt you sister."

Jon sends Ramsay a look that tells him to don't go any further. "Oooh you didn't hear?" Ramsay fakes surprise. "I'm amazed you didn't, her screams echoed all the way to King's Landing…" Jon's grip around Longclaw tightens. "Every time I pushed myself inside everyone could hear her. She kept all of Westeros up that night." He smiles his most sadistic smile yet. "I myself didn't get any sleep…"

His leg's muscles moving on instinct and out of emotion, before Jon could stop himself he had already closed the distance between the two and his blade was already halfway through its trajectory."Arghhhh!"

Ramsay leaped out of his range. Using his momentum, he pushes himself forward, thrusting his sword.

 _SHINK!_

Jon parries his blow to the side, the metals clacking against each other. Without wasting time, he swings Longclaw at a neck-high height. Ramsay ducks the strike and steps back again, his sadistic smile always present.

Not wanting to give his opponent anytime to attack, Snow swings again, this time aiming to cut his chest. Ramsay parries the blow. However the strike was stronger than it seemed and Ramsay wasn't able to withstand the hit.

Ramsay stumbles as he loses balance, regaining it at the last second. His sword, however, falls out of his hand. His eyes find Jon's as he is sure his adversary will take this opportunity to kill him.

"Pick it up." He simply says. If anyone ever doubted Jon Snow's honor they would be fools. _'He hasn't that much experience with a sword like Tormund said. You don't parry swings…'_

Ramsay bends down to pick his sword up, swinging it in a down-up motion as soon as he grasps the handle. Jon steps back, barely avoiding the steel as he feels the wind pass his nose. The Bolton doesn't stop and gives chase, swinging his sword almost like a butcher swings its cleaver. Jon simply steps back evading the strikes or swings them away, not making the same mistake as the legitimized bastard.

Getting tired of the cat and mouse play they're having, Ramsay pulls his sword up, ready to bring it down in hammer-hitting-steel trajectory. Snow takes this opportunity and jumps in, denying his opponent the necessary range to bring his steel down.

Not having enough space to use his sword as well, Jon headbutts Ramsay.

"Urghh!" The Bolton grunts as he stumbles back, his nose bleeding. Before he can even raise his hand to wipe some of the blood, Snow is already thrusting his sword, ready to pierce his chest. Ramsay parries it to his left side. Due to his momentum, Jon loses balance and stumbles forward, trying to regain his footing.

In a swift motion, Ramsay brings his sword back and swings it. Jon, using the momentum from his descending body, ducks even faster, Ramsay's sword only slicing him on his left arm.

Before his opponent as a chance to do anything else, the Bolton raises his arm again to try once more the hammer-like strike. Not seeing much of a way out, Snow moves forward, slipping under Ramsay's raised member. Without further ado Eddard's bastard rotates on his feet, elbowing his adversary on the ribs.

Ramsay groans in pain as he swings his blade in one-hundred and eighty degrees circular motion. His sword meets nothing but air and space as Snow has already backed away a few steps, regaining his stance.

Taking advantage from Ramsay's miss he thrusts. _SHINK!_ Ramsay parries the strike away. Without wasting time, Snow attacks again and again, giving chase just like Ramsay had done before.

After a few consecutive strikes the different in stamina begins to show as the Bolton's parries begin lacking strength and precision. In a desperate attempt to regain ground Ramsay grabs hold of Snow's arm mid swing, his muscles aching as the members connects. Nevertheless he is able to keep it in place as he brings his sword arm up ready to strike. As a mirror image, Jon catches his arm. The two struggle with one another, muscles tensioning as they try to overpower the other. It's not much but Ramsay's arms begin to give away.

' _He is getting tired.'_ Jon concludes. Before he can use this to his advantage Ramsay kicks his knee making him lose balance. Not counting his adversaries surprisingly strong grip the kicker gets dragged down as well.

 _CLANK!_ Before long the swords are on the ground, away from their hands. Snow tries to get up. His tired muscles ache and beg him not to move; despite everything he doesn't have endless stamina. Just as his muscles begin to comply Ramsay gets on top of him.

"Say hello to our fathers for me, Lord Snow!" Ramsay proclaims as he pulls his dagger from his belt and brings it down. Midway through its descend, Jon shifts Ramsay's arm away with his wounded left forearm.

"Urghhh!" Snow grunts as Ramsay loses stance. Just as he is ready to bring his arm up again Jon's right fist connect with his jaw, getting him off of the former Lord Commander.

The Bolton falls face first on the ground, grunting from both the punch and his nose coming into contact with the hard sole. Taking this opportunity Jon gets back to his feet, picking Longclaw up. When he gets in stance Ramsay is already up as well, his sword although is nowhere near his hand…

' _I already gave you one slip, if you dropped it twice it's your problem.'_ Jon thrusts his sword. Ramsay side steps away. Using the momentum Snow rotates his arm mid thrust and swings his sword downwards, cutting Ramsay's thigh in the process.

Jon begins to prepare another swing in order to finish things off but his blade meets nothing since as Ramsay as fallen, apparently his wounded leg not withstanding his weight. Not being able to stop his attack, Jon's momentum is to great, making him stumble and falling on top of the Bolton, dropping Longclaw along the way.

"Urghhh!" The two groan simultaneously as their muscles can no longer endure much more. Snow is the first to recollect himself and before Ramsay can do so he is already sitting on top of him.

Not wasting a second, Jon begins to relentlessly punch Ramsay.

 _PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! CRACK! PUNCH!_

In between punches Ramsay's eyes grab hold of Smalljon's. _'Now you moron!'_ Ramsay thinks. _'HELP ME!'_

 _PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH!_

Their eyes meet again…No words are needed as Smalljon Umber nods no. One simple movement defeated Ramsay's hopes. _'You treacherous fuck…'_

 _PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH! PUNCH!_

"Do you yield?" Snow asks, his breathing hard and heavy, clearly his stamina is bordering zero.

 _SPLURGH!_ Ramsay spits, more blood and teeth than one can count, to Jon's face.

PUNCH!

With that last hit Ramsay's world turned black as he got knocked out.

Breathing heavily Snow looks around him. _'It's over…'_ His gaze falls upon Sansa Stark. _'Almost over at least.'_

* * *

Night has fallen bringing the even cooler temperatures with it. If southerners think the North is cold they should wait for nightfall to experience the true meaning of frostbite. The moon is shy, although its light falls upon the courtyard, illuminating a lone figure as she walks towards the kennels, the walls around her no longer bearing the flayed man but the Direwolf instead.

She goes in, the dogs are quiet but you can tell from the look on their faces they haven't eaten in days. In the middle of the cages, behind the kennel gates, sits Ramsay Bolton, bleeding and beaten.

He lifts his head groaning and coughing. Even bloodied he still looks as sadistic as before. Ramsay swallows before speaking, clearly Jon's punches to their toll on the Bolton's face. "Ah Sansa… Hello, Sansa." His head moves from side to side, his neck desperately trying to hold it in one place. "Is this where I'll be staying now? No. Our time together is about to come to an end…" Sansa doesn't say anything, she just stares. "That's all right. You can't kill me. I'm part of you now." He flashes what he wants to be a smile but is nothing more than stained and broken teeth.

"Your words will disappear…" Sansa displays her stare proudly, a stare worthy of the Starks. "Your house will disappear. Your name will disappear." She pauses, drilling holes with her eyes through Ramsay. "All memory of you will disappear."

The dogs growl in their cells as if on cue with Sansa. They begin filtering out into the kennel and moving around Ramsay.

"My dogs will never harm me." He tries to look unfazed but the sheer size of his hounds could make the strongest man wet himself.

"They look hungry…" Sansa states. "You haven't fed them in a few days."

"They're loyal beas…" Ramsay begins. "They were." The Tully interjects. "Now they're starving."

The dogs growl again, this time louder. One, the biggest of them all, approaches Ramsay from the front, placing its front paws on his legs.

 _SNIFF! SNIFF!_

"Sit." Ramsay orders. "Down! Down! Down! Down! Down!" He begins to yell, louder with each word.

The dog bites Ramsay's face. _AAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!_ The remaining dogs converge on their former owner and begin tearing him apart.

Sansa turns as though she might leave, while Ramsay's screams echo throughout the kennel's walls. She lingers for a moment to watch the scene.

Sansa turns and begins walking away, smiling as the screams begin to die out. Her smile shines brighter than the moon's thin light.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

 **So? What did you think about it? Let me know about it in the reviews or PMs. I'll gladly answer any questions you have and I'm always looking for any ideas to write about. So yeah I'm taking requests as of right now.**

 **Before you ask, yes! Osha and Rickon did go The Last Hearth to meet the Umbers. For those who didn't read the books( I'll try to keep this as spoiler free as I can if you are reading or want to and haven't got to this part yet), Smalljon Umber serves as one of the nobles in Robb's guard, so it makes no sense that he allies himself with the Boltons out of his own free will. Instead of turning Rickon and Osha over, he protected them, keeping their existence a secret from Ramsay.**

 **Yes I inspired myself in some scenes from the episode but they are just too good not to use them.**

 **Thank you for reading and don't forget to favorite and review to give me your support.**

 **BeforeOthersBelieve, aka BOB, out!**


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